Scythe and Feathers
by Shinza
Summary: Fantasy A.U. "Why would you help me?" she asked, suspicious of the red-eyed boy. "Because getting you out of here insures my own freedom," he answered with a toothy grin. /SoMa/


**Hello dear Reader!**

**If this isn't your first time reading one of my stories, you might find it a bit dark/gore compared to what I usually write (and with coarse language), but as always, this story will have a happy ending. Another thing: A BIG 'Thank You!' to Nitebreaker for the few quotes in here. Go check out his stories if you can, he's an amazing writer! Moreover, I would like to give a huge shout-out to my wonderful Beta AltairSnow! Finally, if you're also following **_**Hunting Iron, Sleeping Fire**_**, you are probably wondering why I am posting yet another one-shot (again and after so long) instead of updating my current multi-chapter story. Well… I honestly have no good excuse other than: I had to write this! So, forgive me and I hope that you'll enjoy the read! :p**

**Side notes :**

Narration

"Talking"

_*Thinking*_

**Disclaimer : I do not own **_**Soul Eater**_

* * *

It was the creaking of rusty old pulleys that woke her that morning, right before she felt her body start to sway as it was slowly lowered to the ground. She had grown to hate the dull sound of iron scraping against rusted chains; the continuous noise occasionally interfered by a high-pitched squeak whenever the wheels had finished a full cycle.

It was sad to say that this had become a routine for her. She didn't even need to open her eyes to know when her bare feet would start to scrape at the sand covered floor below her, or when the last chain would loosen up enough to allow her freer movement.

As the swaying slowed, her body shifted on its own accord; tensed up muscles relaxing as she kept her eyes firmly shut, enjoying the last snapshots of a dream still lingering behind her eyelids. Every morning she dreaded the day to come, and every sunset she prayed for the night to pass without nightmares plaguing her. It was with that apprehension in mind that she had learned to savor every moment of peace that always seemed to pass her by all too fast.

The slow rocking of her body, when she found herself pulled between two states of complete restraint, was one of those rare moments.

Grounded by day and chained into the air by night, it was only when dawn and dusk arrived that she would be given that short illusion of weightless freedom; her few seconds of peace. During those moments, she did everything to enjoy that feeling, telling herself that one day she would fly away with her own strength, and not because some twisted lunatic wanted her to feel the irony of her captivity.

When they 'pulled her up' for the night, as her jailors would call it, she found herself facing the sky, her limp body parallel to the ground and hovering about 30 feet up in the air. It wasn't the most comfortable position to sleep in, but she couldn't really find it in her to complain about her prison cell. After all, she was probably the only captive in this hellhole that had such a breathtaking view of the stars. Every cloudless night she fell asleep under a sky covered by thousands of little lights, as if someone had thrown diamond dust over a black veil.

The view was first class. The sleeping arrangements; not so much.

At night she was held up by thick chains that wound around her upper thighs, waist, and upper arms. Cuffs around her wrists and ankles were also bound by chains, but thankfully those were rarely tightened, allowing her legs and lower arms to dangle at her sides when she rested after dusk. With time, she had actually gotten used to sleeping like that, even if the first few months her limbs and neck had been sore and stiff every morning.

Having been chained up like this for so long, she no longer felt the burns of the cold iron shackles holding her, the pinch of the chains laying across her skin as she moved around, or even the weight of her restraints pulling her down when they were loosened. She had learned to ignore it a long time ago.

As she felt the sand shift beneath her feet, the girl straightened herself while letting out a heavy sigh. Slowly opening her emerald green eyes, she scanned her surroundings only to note that nothing had changed since last night.

Of course, she wasn't really surprised that nothing had changed while she had been asleep, but she could never shake off the ominous feeling she got every morning as she looked around the empty arena, and like every morning all she could do was stand still in the middle of her cell as an eerie silence fell around her once the chains had stopped moving. It was the kind of heavy silence that could drive you crazy, making you want to scream out just to make sure that you hadn't suddenly gone deaf.

The 20 year old was small for her age with a thin figure, pale skin, and long, messy blond hair that fell to her mid-back. Her worn out clothes probably made her look like a defenseless twelve year old, with an oversized shirt and ragged baggy pants that did nothing to compliment her appearance, but that was exactly what he had wanted when he had put her in here.

Under the loose-fitting clothes, she had lean and toned muscles, a clever and calculating mind, and a temper not to be reckoned with. The biggest mistake most of her opponents made was to underestimate her. She may not be as physically strong as the other fighters, but her speed and agility more than made up for it. After all, she hadn't survived in the arena all those years by just standing there and looking pretty.

No, she was fighter, and her name was Maka. Maka Albarn. At least that's the name her mother had given her, because no one had called her that in years. Now everyone knew her as Angel, and even if some girls would have been flattered by that nickname, she absolutely loathed it. The main source of her disgust was that he had been the one to brand her with that name.

"Good morning, Angel!"

*Think of the Devil…*

Vivid green eyes glared at the figure standing at the entrance of the only door that led into her prison. He was a good head taller than her, had a muscular body that could easily overpower her in strength, but he never dared to come close to her. He was wiser than that… or just a coward.

"So, tell me my stubborn little bird, are you willing to become mine today?"

Her eyes narrowed on him, her features contorted in anger as she clenched her teeth. After all these years he still had the guts to ask her those ridiculous questions.

She could feel her ire rise at his words, his smirk widening into a predatory smile to reveal sharp pointy teeth.

"Go screw yourself Giriko", she hissed at him, her voice low and menacing, promising pain for whoever would cross her path today.

"Why, Angel, how very crude of you", he cooed at her, his lazy brown eyes never leaving her furious green ones, "I'll be watching your fight today, then."

As he turned around to leave through the rough iron door, he glanced over his shoulder, sending a "Good luck love!" in a mocking tone that had her wanting to rip her chains off the walls and hang the bastard for all to see in the middle of her cursed prison.

o.O.o

Soul was seriously starting to second-guess this 'brilliant idea' of his.

Infiltrating the group of jailors guarding 'Angel' had been an easy feat. The only requirements asked of them were to keep their mouths shut and live in the Colosseum's underground until the end of their miserable lives. Knowing the basics of self-defense or how to immobilize an opponent wasn't even demanded of you. Having been taught to fight at an early age, becoming a jailor for the Colosseum had just been that much easier for him. What he hadn't mention to his new employers during the job interview was that he wasn't planning on staying in this rat hole for more than a month, and he'd be damned if he stayed here any longer than what was needed.

Now, the rest of his plan didn't seem as simple as the accomplished 'phase 1'. He needed to somehow get closer to Angel and get her to trust him so that they could get out of here before Giriko, the king of these dry lands, found out who he was or what he was up to.

Actually 'phase 2 : getting closer to the girl in the arena known as Angel', wasn't that hard since the only times one could get close to her was either when they faced her in a fight, or when the jailors brought her food. As the newbie, Soul had been pretty much shoved into the arena with a plate of food in his hands as the heavy iron door was slammed shut in his face, cutting off the amused snickers of the senior jailors.

*Well, shit.*

He really shouldn't have been that worried. After all, he came as a friend, wanting to help her escape her jail cell. There was absolutely no reason for him to be worried… no reason except for the ones that his new colleagues had told him about not ten minutes ago. Apparently, the girl named 'Angel' was a bloodthirsty sadistic monster that slowly closed in on her opponents before viciously gutting them, always careful not to kill them in one hit so that she could savor their cries of agony as she slowly tortured the life out of them.

The last comment they had made before shoving him backwards into the sand covered pit was, "there's a reason they had never needed a new jailor inside the Colosseum... until now". As he was standing there, his back to the center of the arena, Soul was seriously doubting that trying to help her escape was a good idea. He hadn't even seen the girl before! Surely she wouldn't just lop his head off for fun… right?

Maybe he should have just entered the ring as a fighter and killed her off before he got himself into the mess he was currently in, and thus skip 'phase 3 : earn her trust'.

Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves and trying his hardest to ignore the low chuckles of his colleagues still on the other side of the iron door, Soul made sure that the hood of his long brown cloak, the one worn only by the Colosseum jailors, covered as much of his face as possible before turning around.

Steeling himself for the task to come, his fingers tightened around the edges of the food tray before he took a step forward only to end up freezing on the spot, eyes wide and gaping at the scene in front of him. Unconsciously, he craned his neck backwards, slowly tilting his head up to get a better view of it all from under his hood.

Soul had found the Arachnophobia Colosseum huge and imposing from the outside. It was a massive circular building with no roof, and on each level, black veined marble arches were aligned around the building to allow the spectators to see the rest of the city from inside. On the ground floor four entryways, one at each cardinal point, allowed access into the structure, but only the Southern door led to the cells and the jailors' cubicles.

The entire outer architecture made sure that you never forgot the riches and power Giriko possessed, but the view from the pit of the arena was much more impressive. The thick walls were so high that, no matter the time of day, the pit of the arena was never completely bathed in sunlight.

From where he stood, with his back to the iron door, Soul felt like he was seeing a butterfly caught in the middle of a black spider web. Long dark threads spread out from a single point, fanning out and attaching itself over the entire arena.

In the center of that single point, where all the spider-webs seemed to spread out from, a blond girl in white rags was looking at him with intense green eyes. She truly deserved her name 'Angel' while caught in this dark web. The chains coiled around her as a pair of pure white wings fanned out from her back. He could only stare in wonder as pure white feathers spread out from behind her. If hundreds came to see the daily fights in the Colosseum, thousands came just to see the winged girl.

Another feature that caught his attention were her deep green eyes. They made her seem calm, yet he could feel a restless energy behind them. He had seen that look in young soldiers' eyes before, eyes that belonged to those that had seen too much, too soon.

The darkened iron cables rose to the top of the pit, at about 100 feet above Soul's head, before running through six main pulleys fixed along the wall. These six main cables, one for each of her legs, arms and wings, spread out around the arena, giving the illusion of a spider's web before running along the walls where they could be pulled on by the Jailers.

The walls of her cell were about 40 feet away from the middle of the fighting-ring, with the ends of her restraints bolted to the ground, next to where they hanged from after running down the wall from the pulleys. They were clearly too far for her to reach, the jailors never allowing her that much extra leash, and even if she did manage to somehow get rid of her chains during a fight, 'The Cover' would stop her.

'The Cover' was a large net that would encase the entire top of the Colosseum when she was fighting, or when it was raining, and with the snap of a finger from Giriko, it could be pulled across the arena faster than she could probably fly up, effectively trapping her.

o.O.o

Maka glared at the cloaked figure, her arms crossed under her chest. She was still angry from Giriko's earlier visit, but the jailor just standing there with his head tilted towards the sky with his mouth hanging stupidly open wasn't improving her already foul mood. After a few minutes of him taking in his surroundings, her plate of food still in his hands and out of her reach, she felt her eyebrows twitch with impatience.

"Hey! You gonna stand there all day or can I get my food before the fight starts?"

That got his attention as his head snapped back in her direction, his brown cloak shuffling against the sand has he made his way towards her.

"Oh, sorry, here you go," he said in a low voice while handing the tray directly to her. He was now standing right in front of her, his face hidden by the hood. Her anger was gone. Instead she looked at him a bit stunned, then at her tray, then at him again.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

She hadn't really meant to talk to him, but when she noticed that the figure under the cloak seemed to tense up at her words, she figured that she had guessed right.

"Huh, yeah?"

His words were drawn out slowly, like she had just woken him from a deep sleep with a question that he hadn't really understood. Rolling her eyes, and taking her daily ration from the tray he was still holding towards her, she decided to explain herself.

"Other jailors just throw the food on the ground, scared that if they get too close I'd slit their throats," she stated in a matter-of-fact way before taking a bite into her loaf of bread.

"Oh… Are you going to slit my throat because I came too close?" he asked in a bored tone while taking a half step back.

She rolled her eyes at him, the newbie clearly didn't believe she could actually hurt him. Making a disgusted sound before taking another mouthful of bread, she started chewing angrily while sending a mild glare his way. After a few seconds of him not moving from in front of her, she swallowed before answering, frustration clear in her voice.

"Of course not, you idiot. Why would I kill the people that bring me food?"

He seemed to think about it for a few seconds before whispering:

"But, didn't you kill the last jailor? That's why there was a job opening, no?"

Now she just looked at him with a jaded look. "Really? That's what they told you?"

He only shrugged.

Seeing that the conversation with the newbie was going nowhere, Maka let out an exasperated sigh and sat down cross legged, her wings unfurling to form a white cape around her so as to not hinder her while she finished eating her bread and apple. She pointedly looked away from him, making it obvious that she was ignoring him while eating her breakfast. After a few moments of silence, he still wasn't moving from his spot; and, since she couldn't really move from her own, she risked a side glance his way. He caught her gaze and opened his mouth:

"You really do look like an Ange-"

"DON'T call me that," she cut him off while sending a glare his way. Even if he was towering over her sitting form, her jade green eyes were bright with anger, making the young man take another step back.

"Okay, chill," he said with her empty tray held up in front of him in a defensive gesture, "What's your name then?"

At his words, the girl could only stare at him. The new jailor seemed more and more suspicious, and she'd be damned if she was going to lower her guard in front of him now.

"Why do you wanna know?"

"Well, apparently you don't like being called Ang-," he bit back his words as she shot another glare his way, making him hesitate before continuing, "um… being called the 'A-word', so what's your real name?"

"Oh," She let the word hang between them as she took a bite out of the apple. Eyeing his cloaked figure from head to toe, her gaze settled on his hooded face, searching for something. As she slowly chewed, the young man stayed still, his hands relaxed and hanging at his sides with the tray, obviously waiting for her to answer.

About halfway through her apple, she gave in. What was the harm in him knowing her name anyways?

"It's Maka. My real name's Maka."

From under his hood, she vaguely saw a wide smile of sharp shark like teeth.

"Maka, that's a nice name. Mine's Soul," she could almost hear the proud smile in his words, as if he'd just succeeded in getting her to tell him her deepest darkest secret. She was about to roll her eyes and tell him that she hadn't asked, but the sound of a loud horn resonated around them, making Soul jump in surprise.

Getting up, Maka handed him her unfinished apple, a strange calm washing over her as her eyes followed the first spectators that had started entering the seating areas.

"You should leave now. The fight's about to start." Her voice was steady, but her tone was that of a warning.

Without waiting for his answer, Maka shook her wings free of any sand, making the chains sway and clink around her, before turning her back to him and walking towards the opposite wall. She didn't get far before her restraints kept her from taking another step. Focusing only on the task at hand, she drew a wide circle in the sand, delimiting the area in which she could freely move in before being pulled back by her shackles. Even if moving around on sand wasn't easy when you were in a fight, it did have its perks. For her, it was more comfortable to sit on, and drawing random lines in the sand usually calmed her. For the ones that came to watch the fight, it was more entertaining. People seemed to enjoy when one opponent played dirty and threw sand in the eyes of the other. Finally, for the Jailers, it was easier to clean the blood off sand compared to some kind of dirt floor. Just move the sand around and voilà! As if nothing had ever been killed there.

Maka was pulled out of her musings when the crowd suddenly started cheering while stomping their feet, making the entire Colosseum vibrate around her. No matter how long she had been trapped here, her heart still thundered against her rib cage before a fight, her entire body thrumming with the adrenaline and fear.

Back in the middle of her circle, Maka stood tall and proud at she faced the iron door that would bring her her opponent of the day, her fists clenched at her sides to keep them from shaking. They hadn't given her a weapon today, which only made the uneasy feeling she had at the pit of her stomach grow, but when she saw the door open to make way for a little girl, she could barely hold the nausea climbing up her throat.

The poor soul couldn't have been more than 10 years old, with light chestnut colored locks neatly combed around her face, large pink eyes on the verge of tears, and a slightly dusty gown made of fine silk that showed her noble bloodline.

Giriko had thrown a child into the arena, and she was going to have to kill her with her bare hands. Maka had already fought children and elderlies that had been sent into the pit for the king's pleasure, but every time it killed her a little more inside. It was a miracle that she hadn't gone completely insane yet.

Turning herself towards the highest tribune as rage started bubbling inside her, she could only glare at the king who was now standing up, ready to make a little speech before the slaughter began.

"Greetings my fellow subjects! Today our Angel will bring justice upon this evil being!"

While the despicable man pointed an accusing finger towards the clearly frightened little girl, whispers started spreading around him, which only made the cruel man smirk.

"Don't be fooled by her appearance, my friends, for what you have here is actually a Witch!"

That was all it took to rile up the crowd and get them to start 'booing' and screaming to 'Kill the Witch!'. Giriko generally showed a laid-back demeanor that almost made him seem lazy and absent-minded, but the monarch was actually a very observant person who knew exactly what to say in order to manipulate any one of his subordinates… her included.

Giriko knew that Maka was never the first one to attack, and seeing how terrified the small girl was, he was going to have to give them a push for the battle to start.

The saddest truth that Maka had learned here was that even the most innocent of souls will pick up a weapon and kill when threatened to be killed. She had learned that the hard way after almost losing an arm the first time she fought against a child. The more desperate her opponents were, the more unpredictable and savage they became in a fight.

Throwing an iron dagger over the railing and into the sand next to the shaking child, Giriko raised his voice once again.

"As the last descendant of the Leon family, I, your merciful king, will grant your servant his freedom if you manage to defeat our Angel."

Giriko's face twisted into a sadistic smile as the small girl's teary eyes widened in shock at something behind Maka. Looking over her shoulder, Maka's jaw tightened at what she saw. A man wearing a pair of torn pants, with a bare chest covered in bruises, was tied to a cross as if he had been crucified. His head was bowed, long ash blond hair falling over his face, unmoving.

"Mi-Mifune?"

Turning her attention back to the girl that had squeaked out the name, Maka could only bite her tongue. She had seen enough corpses, killed enough people, to know that the man dangling behind her wasn't alive anymore. Once again Giriko was manipulating an innocent. The little girl had probably refused to give him whatever whimsical thing he had wanted, and as a result she was now being sentenced to death.

Maka could only watch as the girl in the green dress picked up the dagger with trembling fingers, gripping the handle as firmly as her little hands could. Closing her eyes tightly, tears streaming down her face, the child charged Maka, dagger thrusting forward.

It was over the second she stepped into the sand circle. With her eyes closed, she never saw Maka move behind her, unfurling her white wings, softly encircling the child, before snapping her neck clean. This was the most painless death she could give the poor soul.

The sound of her cracking spine resonated through Maka's mind, drowning out the howls of victory around her. Maka couldn't bear to look at the limp body in her arms as she slowly lowered it on the soft sand. She knew without a doubt that tonight she wouldn't get a restful sleep.

By the time she came back to her senses, the spectators were filing out of the Colosseum, their shuffling footsteps and excited chatters dying out around her. It was always the same thing. After each fight the spectators would leave, and the silence would fall around her. Maka didn't hold back the shiver that ran down her spine as she thought of the first time she had killed. His name had been Capone. He was a mafia boss that had apparently hidden money from Giriko. For his betrayal, the short fat man had been tossed into the arena for a fight to the death with her. They had both been given a gun with a single bullet, and by some miracle she had managed to hit him in the head while she had been shot in the arm.

She had been 8 years old at the time.

Gripping at the scar in the middle of her upper arm, Maka could still feel the burning sensation of the bullet piercing her flesh through and through. Even if they had healed, every wound that covered her body would thrum and burn after a kill, and every night the ghosts of her victims would come back to haunt her.

o.O.o

Today the sky was covered in gray clouds, and even if the rain refused to fall, thunder still rumbled in the distance. While being lowered to the ground, Maka took in a deep breath, trying to calm her anxiously beating heart, but to no avail. She was exhausted from the lack of sleep during the previous night, and the storm closing in was only making her more jittery. The young woman wasn't scared of thunderstorms, but had become wary of them after having had a few nightmares in which she had been struck by lightning while chained up for the night.

The moment her feet touched the ground, she was snapped out of her worrying as Giriko entered her cell. The bastard was smiling wide, sharp teeth giving him a cruel grin. Slowly walking towards her, as if he had all the time in the world, the king seemed to admire her surroundings while nodding to himself.

"Beautiful day, isn't it Angel?"

Maka raised a single brow, clearly not impressed with his false statement and way too tired to comment.

Seeing that she wouldn't answer him, Giriko shrugged before continuing his advance towards her. Maka's eyes followed his every movement as she shifted her weight away from him. He hadn't dared to approach her in years but that didn't mean he was harmless. The last time he had been too close, she had broken his nose, leaving him with a nice metal bridge for nasal support.

"You know, Angel, I really don't enjoy seeing you kill children…"

Maka inwardly praised herself for keeping a bored expression on, even if she really wanted to lash out at him for the obvious lie.

"…but it pains me even more to see you losing your sanity little by little as the days go by."

He finished walking a full circle around her, his voice pitched low as if trying to sooth a small child, only to end up facing her with a sly grin.

"Let me free you from this madness. I can give you riches beyond your wildest dreams, give you all kinds of gowns made of the finest silk, you could wake up every morning surrounded by piles of duck feather pillows, and every night could be spent feasting on the best delicacies this country has to offer!"

Giriko paused, lowering his arms that had risen during his enthusiastic speech, and stared at the green eyed girl in front of him. Maka might have been chained up in this place for most of her life, but by no means was she a fool. For years Giriko had tortured her physically and mentally, making her fight innocent people to the death, only to blame it on her by saying that the only reason he had thrown them into the pit in the first place was because she didn't comply with his demands.

He was waiting for her to break, and she probably would have if she hadn't been so righteous and stubborn. Even if she had never seriously contemplated the idea of giving in to Giriko, she had thought of giving in to madness. Sometimes the guilt was so suffocating that on the darkest nights she wished she could just throw away her conscious and enjoy the thrill of the kill that so many mercenaries seemed to cherish.

To Maka, madness was kind of like gravity. Once you're teetering on that thin line between sanity and madness, all you need is a push. Even chained up as she was, with enough loose it was easy to fall over the edge. It didn't matter if you were crazy to begin with or not, the trick was to show everyone around you that you were balanced. By doing that, you'll start believing that you are stable enough to not fall over into madness, or grounded enough so as not to fly away from reality.

The king seemed to ignore her tensed posture as he changed direction, circling again around her, feet lazily kicking away sand.

"I've always wanted to protect you Angel. And this…" he said while waving a hand around them, "…this is me protecting you from yourself. And now, I'm here to free you. You'll be safe by my side."

He paused again once he was in front of her, almost at arm's reach. Maka felt her eyes soften as a small smile tugged at her lips. Letting her arms hang loosely at her sides, she gave a slight nod with her head.

Never breaking eye contact, she saw Giriko's face light up with pleasure at her acceptance. That was all it took for him to carelessly enter her personal circle, a few steps was all she needed.

The hand hanging by her left side closed around a loose length of chain as she kept still until he was barely a step away from her. She's not sure what gave her away, but by the time Giriko understood his mistake, she was already swigging her left arm his way. He had tried taking a step back, but hadn't been fast enough as the rattling chains flew past her in a blur of black and grey, effectively slashing him across the face.

A strange giggle resonated around them as Giriko fell on his ass, scrambling backwards to put some space between them. It took Maka a few seconds to realize that she was the one giggling, a wide demented smile on her face. This only amused her more are she stepped forward, the chains creaking around her as they held her back. She tried throwing her makeshift iron whip towards the fallen man again, only to hit the sand as he staggered to his feet and out of her reach. Looking up at him, Maka couldn't hold back a maddened cackle as she saw the great sovereign, King Giriko, wide-eyed and trembling with a nasty bloody gash that went from the top of his nose to the lower part of his left cheek.

She saw his face grow an angry red as fury warped his features. Strangely, that only made her tug more at her restrains, ready to fight this ridiculous looking man. She was so high on the adrenaline coursing through her veins after this short-lived victory that her brain barely registered the king's angry yells over her now unrestrained laughter.

"Only give that bitch water for the next two days, and no more weapons until I say so. I want to see her bleed. "

His last words felt more like a promise than a threat, but she just couldn't make herself care. Landing a hit on Giriko had been so satisfying, totally worth the no food and no weapon penalty.

If she fought right now, let it be children or killers, Maka knew that she would shred them to pieces without the slightest bit of remorse. Had she finally tipped over the edge?

She knew this was wrong. A small part of her brain was telling her that she should be scared of her lack of empathy, but that tiny voice seemed drowned out compared to this feeling of total carefreeness.

"Maka?"

She slowly blinked her eyes once, then twice. Her gaze focused on two red eyes. A soft red like rubies, too bright and lively to be blood, but dark enough to give off a feeling of warmth.

*What a beautiful color,* she thought, *Why haven't I noticed that before?*

"Hey, Maka, snap out of it."

This time she felt his warm hands on her shoulders, slowly tugging her back and forth.

Coming back to her senses, she took a step back, his hands sliding off her shoulders. For a split second, she had felt too small and fragile under his touch. It was the new jailor, his hood slightly tipped back so as to allow her to see his eyes wide with… worry? Why would a jailor be worried about her? No, they were here to make sure that she was alive in the morning and that her chains were always tightly bolted to the ground.

"I'm fine. What do you want?" she snapped back at him while folding her arms protectively in front of herself.

She hadn't really meant for her voice to sound so harsh, but she wanted to be alone right now. She needed to think about what the hell had just happened, and truthfully, she didn't need an audience if she started freaking out.

He slowly bent down to pick up a cup of water, handing it to her with one hand while tugging his hood down with the other. She was actually glad that he was hiding his face from her again because, frankly, she really wanted to hide hers now. Slipping off the edge is one thing… realizing that you're slipping is another, and boy had that been scary.

Taking the wooden cup from his hand, she mumbled a small 'thanks' before bringing it to her lips. The water was surprisingly cool and eased her throat that had started to feel dry after all that maniacal laughing she had done.

*Great, the new guy shakes you out of your 'crazy spell', brings you fresh water and what do you do? Snap back at him? Way to go Maka,* she berated herself while glaring at the bottom of her now empty cup.

Tossing the empty object his way, she turned around before falling into a sitting position, wings spread out widely around her. She was too proud to apologize, and too anxious right now to start a friendly conversation.

After all, they weren't friends. He was a jailor. She owed him nothing. Just because he knew her name didn't mean that he had the right to…

Her green eyes widened with surprise as realization hit her. Turning her head to the side, she watched the cloaked figure disappear behind the iron door.

He had called her by her name. Not Angel, but Maka.

o.O.o

Maka spent the next two days lying around on the sand. If she wasn't getting food until her next match, she knew she had to save her energy. The first day passed by without too much trouble as she slept most of the day away. The second day was rougher. Her stomach had started growling, demanding food that she knew she wouldn't get, and by night the hunger pangs were such that she felt like she was about to puke even if her belly was empty. Thankfully the new jailor - *Soul was it?* - brought her water every few hours. Even if it wasn't enough to stop the rumbling, it did smoothen the pain for a while.

On the morning of the third day, Maka didn't even bother opening her eyes as she was lowered to the ground, her body laying over the soft sand. Even if her wings were starting to protest under her, she didn't have it in her to move just yet. Today she would have to fight.

"Still alive?"

Hearing the raspy voice from above her, she felt a grin tug at her lips. *What a cocky guy.*

"Yes, Soul."

"Huh, so you do know my name."

"You told it to me."

"Yeah, but with you calling me 'you' or 'newbie' all the time, I didn't think you actually remembered it."

Letting out a long sigh, Maka slowly rolled to her side, carefully maneuvering her wings behind her while crossing her legs into a more comfortable sitting position. Too tired to sit up straight, she was slouched over and craning her neck to see his hooded figure carrying a tray with two cups.

"Two cups? Is there poison in one of them or are you joining me?"

"Not funny, Maka."

She could only shrug at his words, letting him sit in front of her while balancing the tray on his knees.

"We're only allowed to give you water, so they didn't really mind me bringing two cups since you're about to fight," he said leaning in to continue in a more hushed tone. "But just so you know, I saw Joe 'accidently' spill sugar into the left cup."

Maka took her time to savor both cups, hiding her smile. Out of all the jailors, Joe had been the one she had known the longest. He was a tall and imposing man with a head of short blond hair, a well-trimmed beard, and a constant aroma of coffee around him. He was an inventor and reminded Maka of a crazy but caring uncle. Apparently, the only reason he was a jailor was so that Giriko could keep an eye on him. Even knowing that, Maka had never gone beyond polite talk with Joe. After all, he was the one that had designed the entire chains and pulleys contraption that held her captive.

When the last drop of sweet water passed her lips, Maka gently set down the cup onto Soul's tray before slowly getting up. Facing away from the iron door, she started stretching, arms over her head and wings spreading out wide as she felt her spine pop.

Hearing sand sift and robes shuffle behind her, Maka glanced over her shoulder, arms swinging down at her sides as she finished her stretch. Seeing Soul head back out of her cell, she wanted to thank him for the water, but held her tongue. After all, he was still a jailor. An enemy.

The iron door closed at the sound of a horn resonating around her. As always, her heart started pounding in her chest as the spectators started filling in, taking their places in the seating areas above her.

Excited chatters began to echo around her as more spectators entered the Colosseum, but Maka kept her eyes glued to Giriko's cubicle. Ten minutes later, when the building was practically full of people, the king arrived wearing a large bandage over his left cheek.

She couldn't hold back a satisfied smirk has he crossed her gaze, clearly displeased with seeing her in such a good mood. She had survived two days on nothing but water, and seeing Giriko's bruised face only steeled her resolve that this ordeal had been a small price to pay. The only downside was the fact that she still hadn't been given her weapon back. It wasn't the first time that he made her fight without her scythe, but she still couldn't help feeling like she was missing something when the familiar weight of the blade wasn't in her hands.

The thundering cheers around her grew louder as her opponent walked through the iron door followed by the Colosseum's jailors, all hidden from head to toe in their brown cloaks. Today's fighter was tall and bulky, dressed in ragged, white and black striped prisoner clothes. Maka focused all her attention on the stranger. After all, the best moment to analyze an opponent was when he entered the pit.

An unsteady first step on the sand when leaving the cement floor of the inner Colosseum could mean that her opponent wasn't a fighter. Covering one's blinking eyes when exiting the dark inners of the Colosseum could betray a bad eye sight. A proud and regal march towards her could give hints on the fighter's agility and confidence in his skills, while a nervous attitude would be a sign of weakness. A limp or unswaying arm was likely due to a hidden wound. After that, the closer they got, the more details she could spot.

This big fellow had a steady footing in the sand, no apparent limp, old scars that didn't seem to bother him on his knuckles and bare feet, a well-toned upper body stretching out his worn-out shirt, and a bandage covering his left eye. From this, Maka could guess that he was physically stronger than her, probably excelled in close hand to hand combat, but might not be as agile or fast as her. His patched left eye would be a blind spot she would have to use to her advantage. Finally, the fact that he was carelessly dragging an iron ball attached to his left ankle, like it wasn't even there only proved how much physically stronger he was compared to her. If he landed a hit, she would bleed.

Taking a deep breath, Maka focused on her opponent, shutting out the screams and cheers resonating around her as the tall prisoner fell into a fighting stance. His eye inspected her from head to toe before cracking a confident smirk. He had a physical advantage over her and he knew it.

Letting her instincts take over, Maka heard the heavy iron door of the pit close as she felt her chains being reeled in. Throwing a quick glance around her, she noticed that the jailors had never left. Normally there were three jailors near the main chain, with one in charge of keeping a hold on the restrain connected to the collar strapped around her neck, and the two others with nets ready to tackle her in case she ever managed to snap a chain or two. Instead, all six jailors had taken their place next to the hooks that kept her chains loose near the ground.

Maka felt her stomach drop as all 6 jailors reached for the chains, the ones used to pull her up for the night. The last time this had happened was during her third fight in the arena. Giriko had been in a very foul mood after she had refused to kill her opponent the day before. This had led to the king rigging the combat in hopes that she would get killed. It had been sheer luck that she hadn't died that day. As a shiver ran up her spine, she could only hope to be as lucky today because this deathmatch would probably be the same.

As the king's bell echoed throughout the Colosseum, Maka's gaze went back to her opponent that hadn't moved an inch. His cocky smile grew wider as he slowly fell into a crouch, his bare calves twitching like a wolf ready to pounce. The air stood still around them as the two fighters focused on one another, blocking out the howlings of the crowd. Seeing how she couldn't move as freely as him, Maka waited for him to make the first move. She could feel his impatience, his thirst for a kill and his desire for her to be his meal.

She barely registered his movement as he started sprinting towards her, the iron ball following as if it weighed nothing. She dodged his first left punch, taking a steady step back as his right fist followed close. She easily dodged that one too, only to feel the chains around her legs tighten up, keeping her from moving back more.

The other fighter wasn't as fast as her, but with her movements restrained, she would soon be at a disadvantage. She didn't want to let him get too close, but seeing how this fight was going, it was only a matter of time before she was locked in place. She had to act fast if she wanted to get him close on her own terms, to not let him break through her defenses and catch her off guard.

Swinging his leg for a high kick aimed at her head, Maka ducked, her wings spreading low behind her to keep her balance, as the iron ball flew over her, following the movement of his leg until it hit the sand with a loud thud. As his body turned with momentum, he continued his attack as his right foot closed in for a low kick, his heel catching sand, sending the small grains her way in hopes to blind her.

Beating her wings once to give herself a small boost from her crouched position, Maka jumped towards him, his kick narrowly missing her ankle. Unable to move backwards, she made use of the height advantage she had gotten from her dodge. As he finished his kick in a half crouch, Maka slid to his left, her arm reaching out behind him as the chain attached to her right wrist snaked against the nape of his neck. Planning on weaving the chain around his neck as he quickly rose up, Maka's retaliation came to a sudden halt as she felt a pull on her wrists.

The jailors where taking her last length of chain away.

With the prisoner's sudden rise as her arms were pulled back, the blond girl lost her balance as she found herself dangling off the ground, held only by her wrists while her shoulder joints started to sting from the brutal treatment. Maka could barely feel the strain as fear seeped into her bones as she realized her new situation.

Her tall and now very menacing looking opponent turned on her with a victorious smile, his hands reaching out towards her throat to strangle her while she was defenseless. Feeling a dizzying rush of adrenaline course through her body, she clenched her jaw tightly so as to not accidentally bite off her tongue. She then waited for him to close in before swinging her legs up, her bare feet landing on his shoulders. Arching her back while beating her wings, Maka heaved her body on top of him again. Once she had a higher vantage point, she twisted her torso to the side in order to sit on the back of his shoulders, her legs hooking together under his arms to lock his upper arms in place.

The muscles in her arms tensed up as she readied herself to be pulled up again by the tightening of her restrains. Feeling her left wrist being yanked back first, she braced herself for the second pull, but it never came.

Maka glanced towards her right, spotting the blond jailor that had released the end of the chain linked to her right arm. She could barely make out the shocked expression on Joe Buttataki's face, as if he couldn't believe that he had just defied Giriko's orders. Snapping her attention back to the man that was trying to pry her legs away from his body, Maka used the now loosened length of chain to pass it around her opponent's unguarded neck.

As she started to tighten her hold around his neck, his clenched fists thrashed about in hopes of landing a hit that would make her loosen her hold. Seeing her unyielding grip even after receiving a few hits to the ribcage, the jailors were compelled to release their hold on the Angel's chains before the poor fellow was hung by Maka's tightening restrains.

With this new-found length, her opponent dropped them both to the ground. As their backs hit the sand, she felt the air leave her lungs and her wings spread out wide around her so as to not get crushed.

Not managing to stun her off his back the first time, the prisoner pulled himself back to his knees in hopes that a second fall would do the job. As he rose to his feet, Maka leaned back, her white wings expanding wide as she started flapping them backwards in slow strong strokes, rising dust from the sand covered ground around them. Shutting her eyes tightly as grains of sand started flying near her face and eyes, Maka let her entire body weight fall back, held up only by the chains wound around her opponent's neck. She was close enough to hear his breath as it slowly came wheezing out, feel the forced rise and fall of his ribcage as his lungs desperately tried to pull in air, and sense the futile scraping of his nails against her chain as it snaked around his neck. In a few more seconds he would be out like a light.

As her victory became obvious, adrenaline started to leave her body. Maka's senses came back to her, only to be deafened by the thunderous cheers of the spectators surrounding her as well as the pounding of her heart resounding in her ears.

It was only when she felt the body under her start to slump over that she unhooked her legs from around him, unsteady feet sinking into the sand as her muscles shook. Maka couldn't tell if her shaking was from exertion or from the resonating thrums of feet stomping against the Colosseum's floor, echoes made by a crowd pleased by today's show. Looking down towards her arms, and slowly unclenching her fingers from around her makeshift choker, she could feel her strained white fingers start prickling as blood rushed back to her extremities. Letting go of her victim, Maka backed away on shaky legs as the massive body slumped forward, lifeless.

All things considered, this was a big victory for her. With barely anything in her stomach, no weapons, and an unwanted restraining handicap, she had finished this fight with just a few bruises to her ribs.

Feeling a proud smile tilt her lips, Maka straightened her back as she looked up towards Giriko's balcony, only to see the cubicle empty.

o.O.o

It was the sound of metal scraping against concrete that woke her up that night.

Twisting her neck back as far as she could, Maka quickly gave up trying to see where the noise was coming from. With the new moon, it was too dark to see anything anyways.

The first time she had heard this sound, she had been startled awake, fearing that someone would be able to kill her in her sleep while she was helplessly chained up. Thankfully for her, she had never been injured. Unfortunately for the other victims, they never were as lucky.

The scraping of a metal blade against the floor was more for her benefit than anyone else's. She was, after all, the only one here at night. After a few grunting sounds and a loud thud made by a body falling into the sand at the bottom of the pit, Maka closed her eyes, desperately trying to ignore what had just occurred.

*That's two in less than a month, Giriko. You sure are in a bad mood lately.*

She was going to have to wait until the morning for the other jailors to discover the slayed corpse of Joe. For them to give him a proper burial.

o.O.o

The jailors were wary of her for the rest of the day. Only the newbie, Soul, seemed brave enough to enter her prison. He was alone when he removed the corpse, slowly tugging the dead body across the sand, out of both the Colosseum and her sight. After an hour of moving the blood-stained sand around, he left only to come back with a plate of food. Silently nibbling on her first meal in days, Maka stared at him has he started to rake the sand of her feathers, his back turned to her.

Later that day, after another victorious fight to the death, Soul had been the only jailor to stay back, in order to clean a small cut she had gotten on her lower back.

Every time she thought he would finally leave her alone in the pit, he always came back. Surprisingly, he found quite a few things to do around the arena. That day alone, he had raked the sand of the entire pit at least 4 times, oiled all the pulleys on the walls, brought her all her meals, cleaned out her wounds, brought her a new pair of oversized, but clean, pants, water,…

He had been very quiet the entire day but hadn't seemed frightened of her. Most of the time, he looked lost in thoughts, sometimes zoning out while looking in her direction, before shaking his head and continuing with whatever task he had assigned himself at that moment. He was silently hovering around her and it was pissing her off for some reason.

It was only when he started polishing the iron door that led into her cell that she couldn't keep quiet anymore:

"Why are you here?"

The hooded figure looked back towards her, either surprised that she was talking to him or not understanding her question. "Huh?"

Trying not to sound annoyed, she slowly repeated herself. "I asked you why you were here, Soul."

He stopped polishing the iron frame of the door he was meticulously cleaning and turned fully towards her. "The door was getting a little rusty and the hinges needed to be oiled." His voice was bored, stating the obvious.

Letting out and exasperated sigh she couldn't hold back anymore, Maka crossed her arms in front of her chest before answering, "I know you're polishing up the door, I'm not blind or stupid, Soul. What I want to know is why you've been here all day. Aren't the jailors supposed to split up the tasks?"

He took a moment to answer, swaying back and forth on his feet for a few seconds. He seemed nervous as he raised his hand towards his hooded face only to halt his movement. Letting out a long sigh, his hand fell to his side and his posture slouched over. She squinted her eyes at that. He clearly didn't feel comfortable in answering her. "Well… The other jailors are scared to stay around you. They think you're the one that's been killing them off."

Relaxing her stance and uncrossing her arms, Maka tried to ignore the hurt this piece of information brought.

"They think? What about you?"

Soul seemed to scan the arena around her, thinking out loud.

"I don't see how you could've killed him. It doesn't add up. I mean, you're strapped up every night, with no weapons and no way down. There's no way you could reach the balcony where Joe fell off from, and even if you had managed to get yourself a blade and thrown it towards him with enough force to pierce his lung, someone would have heard him scream since it wasn't a wound that could have killed him instantly." He paused, now looking intently at his feet as he pondered a while longer. "Moreover, yesterday was Joe's night off, so he should have been confined to his cell, like the rest of us. He shouldn't have been anywhere near that part of the arena. He also had a pretty heavy sword trusted through his torso, and seemed to have been dumped into the pit from the king's Balcony." Soul paused for a few seconds, swallowing a lump in his throat before continuing.

"I also checked his room, it was completely bare. Someone had already cleaned it out before we even found the body. I asked around, but no one heard a single thing."

Even though he was talking more to himself than to her, she actually felt relieved that at least one person didn't think that she had done it.

Realizing her thoughts, Maka quickly squashed the feeling down. If Giriko saw that she made friends with one of her jailors again, the constantly bored-sounding boy would be the next one to be found with a stab wound to the chest before being dumped into the arena during the night.

o.O.o

The following week went by in a blur with the same daily routines. The opponents were different every day, but the fights always ended the same way: Maka was the victor. It was a wonder the Colosseum still filled up to the brim with spectators each time she was in a fight, even after all these years.

Every day Soul would bring her either breakfast or dinner. Sometimes both. Apparently, the jailors played rock-paper-scissors to determine who would have the 'dangerous' task of getting close to the Angel. Maka had been annoyed the first time she had heard about it, but barely managed to hide a smile when Soul admitted to losing a few matches on purpose.

The young girl was trying very hard not to be too friendly with him, but he wasn't making it easy. Soul was much nicer than the other jailors, a bit strange with his shark like teeth, fun to talk to, brutally honest, sometimes crude... and truth be told— she was lonely.

As another week passed, Giriko started making public appearances again, proudly showing off a nice pink scar that he supposedly got after fending off an assassin that had sneaked into his palace. Maka didn't care for his lie. What she did care about, on the other hand, was Giriko being in a good mood. As the king's mood got better, Maka was given her weapon back.

The first time she had been given her very own weapon, it had been a scythe. Giriko found it hilarious, saying that she looked like an Angel of Death. It was around that time he had started calling her by that ridiculous "Angel" nickname. As the years went by, she got used to wielding her blade, and had even asked the jailors if they could make it lighter, longer, change the curve and even the color of her weapon. Nowadays, she felt naked without her white scythe.

Another sign that Giriko was in a good mood was that the fights were fewer and farther in between. She even swore that her meals had gotten better.

Even if the king hadn't visited her since the iron whip incident, he had started watching her matches again, accompanied by a tall, richly dressed, red-eyed man with snow white hair.

It was around that time that Soul started avoiding her.

The rare times she had seen Soul enter the pit, he always seemed in a hurry to get away from her as fast as possible. Maka had decided not to ask him why he was acting that way, telling herself that he was, after all, just another jailor. An enemy.

Unfortunately, the more she told herself that this was for the best, that he would be in danger if Giriko saw that she was making a friend, the more his actions pissed her off.

She finally got a conversation out of him a few days later, after a fight that had been pretty intense. Maka had fought against a tall and busty blond with a mean hammer swing. The fight hadn't lasted long, but with all the dodging Maka had been doing, she was getting exhausted at a pretty fast pace. In less than five minutes, the fight had ended in a draw when both parties had knocked the other one out. The blond mercenary with the eyepatch had been carried out of the arena still unconscious while Maka had been left knocked out in the sand.

The green eyed girl came back to her senses as someone gently shook her awake by the shoulders. She tried opening her eyes, only to wince back as pain shot through her right cheek. Sitting up slowly to shake her wings free, Maka opened her left eye to see a retreating cloaked figure bending down to pick up her scythe.

Charging headfirst that hammer swinging mercenary hadn't been her smartest idea, especially since she had also been knocked out in the process, but at least she had managed to get her opponent out of the arena.

Bringing her hand to her bruised cheek, Maka barely heard the shuffling next to her as Soul turned around, her white scythe in his hands, inspecting a crack near the top of the handle. The fissure had appeared after Maka had parried one of the hammer swings earlier. The second she had seen the defect, Maka had thrown her scythe away, deciding that dodging would be her only solution if she didn't want to break her weapon.

Trying to nurse her poor cheek with her cool hand, the young woman tried ignoring the jailor that had been running away from her for the past few days.

"Damn it Maka, can't you be more careful?"

She kept her gaze even, slowly passing her tongue inside her mouth to check if she hadn't lost a tooth.

"For fuck's sake! It's gonna take me all night to repair this shit!"

Maka opened her mouth a little while clenching and unclenching her jaws. Once she was done checking that speaking would not hurt too much, she replied with a glare.

"You don't have to use so many cuss words, you know. I didn't damage the handle on purpose—"

"I don't use cuss words, I use SENTENCE ENHANCERS!" he shouted, clearly irritated.

At his words, Maka could only roll her eyes before replying under her breath:

"Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the arena."

He seemed to ignore her comment as he turned around, inspecting the damaged weapon while walking briskly towards the exit, still swearing under his hood like a sailor.

Maka sat in the sand, letting the bang of the iron door echo around her. Today was a sucky day. She laid back into the sand, an arm thrown over her eyes and wings spread wide. Maybe after a nap her day wouldn't be as sucky. Or maybe if she slept long enough, the sucky day would come to an end without getting any more sucky.

She probably got a few hours of sleep on the soft warm sand before waking up to footsteps coming her way. Lifting her arm to uncover her left eye, she saw Soul's hooded figure coming back towards her, a small bundle in his hand.

Letting her arm fall back into place, Maka decided to go back to her nap. There was no need to show him that she was still awake if he was going to nag her about her damaged weapon again. After walking up to her and hovering for a few minutes, she heard Soul take in a deep breath.

"Sorry, rough night."

Maka didn't move. Maybe he would leave if she played dead long enough.

"I… I brought you ice."

*Great, now he's bringing a peace offering,* she thought grimly, still annoyed at him for earlier.

A few minutes passed without any of them moving. Maka was stubborn, and since she couldn't move from her spot, she would stubbornly wait for him to leave… any minute now… he would get bored and leave….

"Just take the damn ice, Maka."

"No," *Damn it,* she hadn't meant to answer.

She heard him sigh before she felt him sit down and place something cold against her arm.

"Why does he only give you a scythe?"

"You're a stubborn ass, you know that, Soul?" she said angrily as she sat up, snatching the bundle of ice to apply it to her still aching jaw.

After a few minutes of silence, with him still sitting next to her, Maka gave in.

"It's because he's a sick pervert."

He looked at her, his hood falling over his eyes but his tilted head giving away his confusion.

"Giriko," she filled in. "The king. He's the sick pervert. I mean, come on, he sees a person with white wings, and she's an Angel? That twisted bastard is turned on by seeing a pure white angel covered in blood, killing people."

A disgusted shiver coursed through her as she curled her wings around her body.

"That's also why I'm only allowed to wear white." She glanced his way, her green eyes fierce with anger. "I honestly would rather wear black."

"Why? Because it would show that you're evil?" he asked with a toothy grin.

Her upper lip twisted in disgust at his statement. "No. I would rather wear black because you don't see blood on black clothes," she paused, taking the ice off her skin before continuing in a monotone voice, "You know, the only reason people see white as 'good' and black as 'bad' is because white symbolizes light, and black symbolizes darkness. People don't like being surrounded by darkness, because they are scared of what they can't see, even if there is nothing to see." She tore her gaze away from him, passing the ice from one hand to the other, talking more to herself than to him.

"Since people don't like being scared, they turn that fear into hate. People hate black, so they simply see it as 'bad', while white is seen as 'good'."

It took her a few moments before noticing that he was still sitting next to her silently and unmoving. Facing her.

She raised a single eyebrow. "What?"

"Um, nothing… It's just that I only see you fighting in the arena. I know you're someone to be feared in a battle, and you're smart about the way you fight, but I didn't think you had thought about such concepts."

"Oh," she let the word hang between them for a few seconds before continuing.

"I learned that when I was little, before I got locked up in here. I loved reading and there was this story about a little orphan boy that was scared of the dark. One day, he gets lost in the forest behind his house and can't get back. When night falls, he starts crying. As he cries, a lonely witch appears and asks him why he's crying. He tells her it's because he's scared of the dark. She asks him why, and when the little boy doesn't answer her, she asks him if the night has hurt him before. He tells her no because the night can't hurt people, it's not alive. So she asks him again why he is scared, and he answers that it's because there might be monsters he can't see. Monsters that could hurt him. So the witch strikes a bargain with him and tells him that if he became her friend and stayed with her for the rest of his life, she would help him see in the dark. The little orphan boy, having no friends or family, accepts the bargain and the witch turns him into a cat. That's how the boy got a family, learned to see in the dark, met lots of friendly monsters, and was never scared again."

"That's a nice story."

She could feel herself smile, but kept her gaze on the ice melting between her fingers as a sadness set in her heart.

"Yeah, it was one of my favorites."

o.O.o

You meet many different kinds of people in the Colosseum. As you fight them, you learn the worst about humans. Maka had mused, on the gloomy days, how even after taking people apart for so many years, trying to see how they worked, she still didn't understand how they functioned.

Only crazy people entered the arena willingly. Dissecting those fighters was like trying to pry open a damaged mechanism that only snapped between your finger before either falling apart or blowing up in your face.

This time, her opponent was a tall and skinny guy wearing a stitched lab coat and a giant screw in his head. This only proved her point— only looneys entered the arena willingly. He was probably a mercenary trying his luck in the arena in hopes of gaining fame, fortune and glory.

The fight had been brutal. He was lean and agile, overpowered her physically and was swinging a long black scythe. She was at a serious disadvantage with her smaller stature and shorter weapon range.

By the end of the fight, she was covered in blood, but it wasn't hers.

Mostly.

Afterwards, the guy had been dragged out of the sand pit still breathing, his hand firmly clenched around his scythe as if ready to pounce back into a fighting stance at a moment's notice.

She had a nasty gash on her lower stomach and probably another one on her upper wing. She had felt the sting of his blade slice across her extended scapula. It was only later, when she was topless with her wounded back towards Soul that she realized how deep the cut was. Maka stood still, jaw clenched as she held back whimpers while Soul poured another bucket of water over her bloody back. This was going to leave another nasty scar on her pale skin.

"That was a low move you did out there today," commented Soul as he poured another bucket over her right wing.

Maka took a few seconds to answer. She wanted to be sure her voice wouldn't waver. "What do you mean?"

"Hitting him under the belt. Doing that was kind of like cheating."

Maka scuffed at his words, her pride clearly wounded. "I never cheat! I just adapt to circumstances," she replied smugly.

He chuckled behind her, letting another bucket fall to the ground as he picked up a shirt with back straps. The white linen shirt covered her front and could be closed tightly in her back with the straps, allowing her chained wings movement.

"For someone so scary you sure are small," Soul added offhandedly as he passed the shirt over her head, proving his point at how small she was compared to him.

Maka passed her arms through the sleeves before crossing them in front of her, looking stubbornly forward, cheeks puffed out.

"Well, maybe I would have grown taller if I hadn't been chained down during my growth sprout," she answered angrily while rattling the chains locked around her wings to prove her point, obviously pouting.

"Keep telling yourself that, Albarn."

Maka froze up at his words. Dread seeping through her bones.

"H-how do you know that name?" Her words were barely a whisper, but she knew he had heard her when he quickly finished tying the last strap a little too tight.

Maka slowly turned around, feeling her stunned look turn into an angry glare as she curled her fingers into a fist.

"I said, HOW do you know that name, Soul?" This time, her voice was quivering with anger, knuckles strained white. She hadn't felt like strangling someone in a while, but right now the little voice in her head telling her to close her fingers around the boy's neck was very appealing.

"Listen Maka…" he said as he slowly extended a hand towards her.

She took a step back, distrust clear on her features. "Who are you?"

"A friend here to help you."

She scoffed at his answer, "That's not what I asked, Soul." She spat the name out like it was venomous.

"I-I can't tell you who I am. What I can tell you is that the only reason I'm here is to help you get out of this hell hole."

His tone was now hushed, hood falling back a little to reveal fierce ruby red eyes. He was serious, his breathing even and gaze filled with honesty.

Seeing this, Maka took another step back, unclenching her fists. Up until now, he hadn't given her a single reason to doubt him.

"Fine." Her tone was abrupt. She wasn't pleased with his lack of answer, but that didn't mean she was going to let him off the hook that easily.

"Why would you help me?" she asked, suspicious of the red-eyed boy.

"Because getting you out of here insures my own freedom," he answered with a toothy grin.

o.O.o

A few days later, a new contender entered the Arachnophobia Colosseum. This one, she was sure, had lost his sanity a long time ago. The guy was tall, thin and all muscles, but was constantly hunched over. He wore a plain white mask with knife blades for teeth, a long pointy cone for a nose, and a strange red symbol was drawn on his brow. He also wore a tattered piece of cloth that barely covered anything, and had mechanical arms that connected along his amts and to his hands, allowing him to move long blades over his fingers.

The guy called himself Jack the Ripper and seemed determined to kill the Angel that, apparently, would make a "fine addition to his collection of dead whores." The young girl had cringed more at his high pitched voice than his words, and silently prayed he wouldn't start talking again. There was something very dark about her opponent, and the longer he was around her, the more she felt uneasy.

Maka didn't care for the creep, or his crude monologue. He wasn't the first looney to enter the arena, sprouting insane nonsense like "I shall free you of your chains, Angel", "I shall destroy this corporal body so you can join the holy skies, Angel" or even "You are the reincarnation of a past love, let's die again by the other's sword".

Yep. She had seen it all. Heard it all.

The only good thing with having to go up against one of those crazy fighters was that they had thrown themselves into the Colosseum. They had willingly signed their death certificates, and that helped with managing her guilt. If only just a little.

Jack hadn't waited for the king's approval to start the fight. Racing towards her head on after presenting himself, Maka sprang into action. He was as fast as her, his movements were wide and chaotic, making it a little tricky for her to dodge as her chains often got in her way.

The more space she tried putting between them, the more erratic his attacking patterns became. They were literally turning in circles, her chains coiling around her legs. Spinning on herself from time to time to keep the cold bindings from hindering her movements, Maka was clearly losing ground. Jack had the upper hand and he knew it. After a few close calls of bladed fingers scraping her skin, Maka decided to change tactics. She was done letting him toy around with her.

Instead of trying to dodge his attack, she closed the distance. As she ran straight for him, Maka parried a swipe of his claws that was aimed at her stomach. It's only when she stood a mere meter from him that she took the lead to their deadly dance. Small and controlled steps allowed her to put just enough space between her and Jack so as to pass her scythe between them, holding back his attacks as she got a few cuts into him.

The wounds weren't deep. She was too close to get a strong enough swing to chop a limb off, but that also meant that he couldn't do much damage either. Being so close to her opponent, she could easily hear his heavy breathing behind the mask, see the wide bloodshot eyes filled with excitement and adrenaline, and smell his sweat and blood as he made another attempt at slicing her lower stomach open.

Maka blocked his left hand, bladed fingers embedding slightly into the handle of her scythe. Twisting herself as she swung her scythe the other way in order to free her weapon while keeping herself mobile, Jack was forced to take an extra step back.

Not missing a beat, she took the opening and brought her scythe upward, effectively slicing his right arm clean off. He let out a pained howl as dark blood gushed out of his wound. Maka felt a satisfied smirk pull at her lips, but quickly crushed it when, instead of collapsing and holding onto his wound like any normal person would, Jack dove after her, catching her off guard.

He was aiming for her exposed right side. Her body moved on its own accord, her right wing spreading out in front of herself, taking the blunt of the attack. Maka couldn't hold back a scream as she felt the cold jagged claws dig into the soft flesh.

Taking her scythe into her left hand, the young woman swung it his way. It was a desperate move, and he knew it. She hadn't put enough strength into the attack, allowing him to block her blade easily.

It was her turn to pant, pain shooting through her wing and down her back and right arm. The ache suddenly morphed into cold fear as she tried to bring her blade back, only to realize that her opponent's iron grip wouldn't let go. Not wasting anymore time in front of the struggling girl, and with his right side still oozing blood, Jack the Ripper slammed her weapon downwards, leaning into the movement as he aimed a low kick at her left ankle.

In order to jump over his leg, Maka applied extra pressure onto her scythe, only to realize her mistake a second later as she felt her precious weapon snap under her weight.

*Shit. Soul's not gonna be happy.*

Letting go of her weapon as she skidded back, Maka took hold of the chain connected to her left wrist, bringing it up just in time to stop the four finger like blades mere centimeters away from her face.

Just when she thought the insane guy in front of her couldn't get any creepier, he proved her wrong as her lunged for her strained chain, clamping his jaws around it and effectively cutting it in half.

*What the Hell!?*

She was stunned in place as his clawed hand swiped at her again, making three deep gashes down her right leg.

She barely registered the sting or the warm blood dripping down her leg as a new rush of fear and adrenaline hit her system.

Swinging her right arm in front of her to pull a new length of chain between her and Jack, Maka steadily made a backward retreat. In the back of her mind, she knew the extra chain length would soon run out. She needed to take him out fast before her movements were restrained anymore..

Jack's movements, on the other hand, were slowing down. His mouth was halfway opened, blood seeping down his tongue hanging between jagged teeth that were either broken or bent out of shape. His right leg was covered in blood that was still gushing from his missing limb, and his eyes had rolled back into his head, leaving her to stare into white bloodshot eyeballs.

*How the hell is he still standing?*

Ignoring the pain still throbbing through her right side, Maka grabbed the chain still attached to her wrist and made it snap towards her enemy, finally halting his advance. Another swing made the chain crack like a whip at his feet. His already grey complexion looked paler, and as she snapped another length of chain at his torso, he stumbled back.

It took him a full second before shaking his head vigorously, his beady black eyes back in their right place. This made Maka pause. Was he finally feeling the blood loss?

Seeing his weakened state, she came at him with more ferocity, whipping the chain across his body, backing him towards the center of the pit.

He tried batting the chain away a few times with his blades, without much success. The seconds stretched on as she relentlessly swung the chain his way, praying to whatever Kami was out there for him to finally collapse.

At some point, as he tried hitting her chain back, his blades got caught between the mesh; but his movements were too weak to bring her towards himself. With a flick of her wrist, she curled the iron chain around his trapped hand and pulled.

This time, she was ready when the links snapped while her opponent fell face first into the reddening sand. Those chains hadn't been changed in years, and with Joe dead, no one had checked their state in weeks.

Her victory was short lived at she came back to her senses. As the crowd thundered in cheers around her, the jailors were running around the arena, advancing towards her with wide nets and spears. She hadn't come this close to freedom in years. Hell would freeze over before she gave up on this opportunity.

Turning towards the cloaked figures that were advancing her way with a net, Maka braced herself, a strategy forming in her head. If she could knock out one of them, use the net on the other one and steal the spear from the third one, then she could probably use it to snap the chains at her ankles.

Once again, a searing pain shot through her right wing as she realized that they were tightening her restrains. As her hopes for freedom started to vanish before her eyes, Maka did what any desperate soul would do, she pulled back. The jailors tugged harder against her chains, her legs and upper body slowly pulled off the ground. Maka was now thrashing against the cuffs that were burning into her skin, ignoring the constricting chains around her torso as she started clawing at the air around her. Maybe if she pulled just a little more…

Her thoughts came to a halt as her vision became blurry, her throat drying up as a strange fog rose around her. She could barely feel her limbs after just a few seconds of inhaling the smoke. Coughing to get the poisonous gas out of her lungs, this only led her to taking in more of the smoke. The voices around her seemed to become muffled as her head started spinning, her eyelids falling closed as the world around her faded to black.

o.O.o

She couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep, but she was dreaming of her mother. Maka hadn't dreamt of her in years.

Her mother was from a foreign land. The daughter of a village chief with long blond hair and vivid green eyes like fresh meadow grass. She always thought of her mother as a fearless beauty. To her, she was the strongest person from the Grigorian tribe.

The memories she had of her mother were a little hazy, she had been so young when she had lost her. Maka had always had a great memory for stories, but even the most important memories and the greatest stories can be forgotten with time.

She vaguely recalled her mother telling her that she had first come to the kingdom's capital, Death City, in order to escape her clan. Maka still remembered her mama telling her stories about how she found freedom and love in Death City. Apparently, her father had been Lord Death's closest advisor, but she didn't really believe it. After all, if her father had been such a powerful person, he would have protected them. Or he would have already saved her from the Colosseum.

Her mother, Kami, had always been a wandering soul, disregarding the hate of different nations. She used to say that the World was too beautiful to live in just one place, and people too unique to not accept them all. Unfortunately, that was also her downfall when, visiting the oasis near the southern desert, she was taken in to Asura's Castle as an exotic looking slave. Kami had already been pregnant at the time, and seven months later gave birth to a beautiful daughter : Maka.

The cruel Emperor Asura fell for Kami's beauty and made her his favorite slave, while Maka grew up with the other servants. As a child, she didn't understand the concept of slavery. To her, her mother was friends with the Emperor, taking care of him, and as long as she made herself scarce and helped the other adults around the castle, Kami would kindly smile at her.

Running around the castle all the time for all sorts of errands, Maka met another scrawny kid a few years older than her. He could usually be found in the stables or in the training areas. He was proud, a little rude, always wanted to show off, but most of all, he needed a sparring partner. That's when she became friends with Giriko, the prince. She was the only one brave enough, or stupid enough now that she thought about it, to accept sparring with him, taking the risk of getting severely punished if ever he ended up wounded.

Maka didn't mind. When he did get hurt, they were careful to bandage him up so that no one would notice. In the meantime, Maka was spared from doing the boring errands that had her running around the castle. Instead, she played every day with her new friend, learning how to fight and wield all sorts of weapons.

As time went by, rumors of the Emperor's weakening health started roaming the castle. The Empress, Arachne Gorgon, started appearing more and more, even speaking up for her husband from time to time. When the Emperor could no longer leave his bed, it was Arachne that took over the empire. Asura had been a cruel leader, but Arachne was even more so.

Where Asura had wanted power, fighting other nations in order to become the strongest, Arachne wanted to bask in luxury, to have the world at her feet and revel in the suffering of others.

Maka didn't notice the change. She heard the rumors, like everyone else in the castle, but didn't understand the problem. After all, she was just a 7 year old kid helping out in the castle. She had nothing to fear.

How wrong she had been.

The dream started to turn into a nightmare. This wasn't the first time she had had this nightmare, but fear still gripped her as the world morphed around her. The sky turned a deep red as the sun set over the horizon. The walls of the stables she had been in started twisting, rising into the sky as black towers took shape. Just like all those years ago, she found herself inside the inner court of the castle, black stones around her seeming to glow with an eerie haunted feel. In the distance, copper bells rang low, the sound dragging out and vibrating through her body, echoing into her soul. This was the evening during which the Emperor had died.

Little 7 year old Maka turned around, head tilting up as the Empress made an appearance at the highest balcony. The young prince Giriko also appeared by her side, brown hair in a mess and eyes rimmed red. Arachne was dressed in a black spiderweb gown, her silhouette tall and regal as she looked down at her. Cold black eyes holding no emotion. This woman was the complete opposite to Maka's mama.

The Empress waved a fan her way and iron doors opened to reveal her mother, dressed in tattered clothes and chained by her ankles and wrists. Maka struggled in place, her feet unmoving as she started to scream for her mother, but no words came out. Trying to reach out to her as Kami walked by towards an already flaming pyre, Maka felt hot tears streak down her face. She already knew what was about to happen, but couldn't look away as her mother walked into the flames, a sad yet loving smile on her lips as she turned towards her daughter for the last time.

As the flames rose around her silhouette, an ear-piercing screech resonated around the young girl still battling against her own unmoving body.

Rage bubbled from the pit of her stomach and up her throat as she finally managed to scream, a high pitched wail as Maka felt a harsh tug at her back, her wings tearing through her shirt as her body finally started to sprint forward. A young Maka dashed towards her burning mother, the acrid smell of burnt flesh still haunting her memories. She knew she would never make it, but still, she tried.

As she closed in, the pyre darkened into a pile of ashes that were blown her way. Black sand swirled around her, passing through her white wings as armored shadows appeared around her, carrying chains and spears.

Picking up a sword that had appeared in front of her, Maka charged forward, wings spread wide as she swung her blade towards the closest dark knight. With a slash across his stomach, the enemy disappeared into a small pile of sand, but the other ones closed in on her, spears appearing out of thin air and raining down on her.

Maka tried dodging them, but one managed to pierce through the top of her right wing.

Screaming out in pain, Maka's eyes snapped open as she was pulled out of her nightmare and back into the sandy pit of the Colosseum, a pair of ruby red eyes looking at her in shock.

o.O.o.

Soul was surprised by Maka's sudden movements as she started to lean onto her hands to sit up, green eyes wide with fear and pain.

He stared at her, hands having moved away from her body as she looked around the empty sand pit. For the first time, he saw just how lost and lonely she seemed to be in the middle of all these chains and sand.

"You're fine."

His voice came out muffled by the blue handkerchief that was covering his nose and mouth and falling over his chin. This snapped Maka's attention back to him as he reached for a canteen of water attached to his hip.

The young woman greedily accepted the water, taking a few hungry gulps before letting out deep breaths, her eyes closing as she visibly calmed down.

When emerald green eyes opened once again, Maka was back to her calm self, her gaze sharp and calculating. She had pulled those impossibly high walls around her heart and soul again. He knew he wouldn't be able to get a single word out of her now.

"I'm sorry, the pain must have woken you up. I was cleaning out your wounds."

The young woman gave a single nod before putting the canteen down next to him and tucking her left wing under herself as she laid back on her side, her wounded wing resting over her to allow him easier access.

"I need you to stay still. It's not deep, but I still had to clip a quite a few feathers to make sure I got the cut cleared and cleaned."

She gave another silent nod and he took it as permission to continue his ministrations.

Picking up the stained cloth he had been using, Soul rinsed it out in the water bowl that was to his right. He hesitated a few seconds before slowly bringing the wet cloth to the highest gash, breathing out a small 'sorry' when he heard her hiss of pain.

She was admirable. With her back to him, he could see that she had her left hand clamping down hard on her right arm, slightly shaking from the strain, but otherwise she stayed perfectly still. If he had been in her position, he would have been writhing in pain and begging for meds.

As Soul dabbed water around the four blood crusted cuts, he let silence fall between them.

He was actually relieved that she had finally woken up. Maka's fight and attempted escape had ended with the king's angry shouts resonating through the entire Colosseum as he ordered the cover to be closed and the sleeping gas to be released into the fighting pit.

Even after an entire night, the acrid smell of the gas still hadn't dissipated. The jailors had to wear masks if they stayed in the pit for too long, otherwise they would start getting dizzy themselves.

Soul had been coming in and out of her cell the entire day, checking on her breathing, making sure that she was still alive. They hadn't been allowed to enter the sandy area until morning came around. That's when they had been allowed to remove the dead body of Jack the Ripper, while blacksmiths had been called in to fix her snapped chains and make sure that the other links didn't need replacing.

Once the chains had been replaced, he had been allowed to check up on her and see the extent of her wounds. The four nasty cuts on her right wing had stopped oozing blood after a while, but her feathers were now caked in blood, just like most of her body.

He had quickly gone to work, not wanting her to wake up and find herself still covered in blood. He had inspected her wing first, noting that he was going to have to wrap it closed for at least a week in order to keep her from straining her wound.

Since the cuts maring her body weren't that deep, he had first cleaned up her face, legs, and arms. He would wait for her to wake up to see if she wanted to change clothes or not.

And that's exactly what he had done, except she had woken up when he had tried rolling her onto her side in order to get better access to her wounded wing. She had been completely still up until that moment, and he was thus caught off guard when deep green eyes snapped open.

o.O.o

Maka was biting into her cheek, staying as still as possible while her jailor cleaned out her wound. She glared at the sand in front of her as her nightmare still haunted her thoughts.

Maka had lost so much on that day. She had lost her mother, her freedom, and the only person she had ever considered her friend. The spear that had pierced her newly found wings had been replaced by the shackles currently holding her captive. Seeing what she was, the Empress had ordered for Maka to be chained up in the Arachnophobia Colosseum for all to see. It was only a year later that the new king, Giriko, had started calling her his Angel, making her fight. She hated him for the betrayal, and his cruelty only grew under the Empress' influence.

It had been over ten years, and she was still locked up, alive and kicking. Most would have broken years ago, but not her. Here she was, Maka Albarn, still fighting. Still hoping for freedom. Instead of feeling defeated over her failed escape, even if this could have been the best opportunity she would ever have had, inside she burned with anger and resolve. Now she knew what to expect. She just needed a little help, and now she knew exactly who to turn too.

The only question seeping in and out of her mind was: could she trust him?

He had said that he wanted to help her escape almost a week ago...

As she laid a hard gaze on the king's balcony, Maka made up her mind. Trusting people was what had caused the many disasters in her life. Soul was dangling her freedom in from of her nose, and if it failed, she would be crushed. Mentally and physically. She highly doubted that, if she pulled such a stunt and was caught again, Giriko would let her off with just a few days with no food and a rigged fight.

No, he would make her pay dearly.

As for Soul, if he got caught, he would end up as another corpse in the bottom of the arena before morning.

That only caused another question to rise to the forefront of her mind. Why was he putting his life on the line for her?

She opened her mouth, her tongue feeling thick and heavy. Her throat was as dry as the desert surrounding this city, even if she had just downed half a canteen of water. She tried swallowing a few times before whispering her question, in fear that someone would over hear her.

"You said that getting me out of here was insuring your own freedom. How far are you willing to go?"

Maka couldn't fathom what could possibly be imprisoning him. Anyone that wasn't chained up like her was free. Even the dead had more freedom than her.

She felt his hand still as he stopped cleaning her wounds, but he didn't speak up. Maka kept her gaze on the sand in front of her, her back turned to him. The seconds ticked by before his low voice finally reached her ears, the words drawled out in his usually lazy fashion.

"Someone is going to come in about two weeks and offer the king something that he won't be able to refuse. These people will buy you out, bring you to a nearby kingdom, and when they do… well… it's not gonna be cool for you."

He paused as she heard sand shift beneath them. He was keeping his voice low, slouching over her so she could hear him clearly.

"One of the Empress's sisters is... very interested in you. She wants to bring your clan back to life."

Maka felt surprised at those words, before hearing him clear his throat, hesitating with his next words. This conversation was obviously making him uncomfortable. She didn't need to turn around to know that much..

"So, I guess that would make you her… um… main breeding machine?" he finished lamely.

Now she did look over her shoulders, straining her neck, a look of disbelief on her face.

"You're joking, right?"

Soul was sitting on his knees, his posture completely hunched over, looking at the blood stained cloth in his hands like it was the most interesting thing in the world. His silence was enough an answer for her. No, he was not joking.

Turning back to rest her head over her extended left arm, her brain started reeling. For the first time in her life, she actually felt the urgency of having to escape the Colosseum.

She stayed silent for a few seconds, her mind reeling with this new piece of information, before whispering.

"You still haven't answered my question. Why are you putting your life at stake for this?"

"It's… complicated," he said without much conviction.

"Try me," she snapped back.

She wasn't pleased with what she had just learned, anger slowly seeping into her system. She wasn't going to put up with anymore of Soul's half truths just because he wanted to either spare her feelings or keep her from knowing the whole truth about himself. He knew things about her that no one else knew, and she sure as hell hadn't told him any of it. People KNEW where she had come from, but no one had ever gotten her out of the Colosseum. She felt like an object that had been stowed away, and now that her master needed her, after all this time, they were going to move her from one cage and into another one. This feeling of being completely powerless in front of these faceless, manipulating, bastards only made her anger rise that much more.

As her ire rose, Soul let out a long sigh, relenting to her request.

"The Empress asked Medusa to raise an unbeatable army for her. Imagine flying soldiers. That would put the neighbouring empires in a difficult spot. Such an army could have the upper hand on any battlefield. Moreover, if a war starts out, some kings might not want to fight. Especially the smaller kingdoms. They will either join her, pay insane amounts of money to be spared, or arrange marriages to merge their lands with hers to avoid conflict all together."

She mulled over his words. He hadn't explained how he fit into all this, but she let that matter drop. She didn't know much about politics, but she knew how humans were. How, when pushed against a wall, they could either lash out violently or submit to their own destruction. She highly doubted that, whatever the smaller kingdoms choose, it would end up being beneficial for either the royal families or the citizens if they were caught in a war between Empires.

She stayed silent for a few more seconds before whispering back.

"When my wing is healed, during a fight, can you get the keys to the king's balcony?"

He gave a small hum of approval as she heard him rinse the cloth out before going back to cleaning out the crusted blood from her wing.

"All right, here's what we can do…"

After a few hours of whispering, Soul finally finished patching up her wing as they discussed the last details of their plan. Maka was standing tall, her back to Soul as he tugged the last bandage into place.

"You sure you want to take revenge on Giriko? If we lose too much time, we might not make it out of the Colosseum before the castle guards arrive."

She couldn't hold back the annoyed click of her tongue.

"Tsk… 'Revenge'. You make me sound like such a barbarian. I see it more as a 'Returning a favor'."

Hearing the low chuckle, she could practically see that shit eating grin of his from under his blue handkerchief.

o.O.o

Maka had been drawing in the sand when Soul arrived through the iron door, a scowl maring his feature. An uneasiness crawled under her skin as he marched stiffly towards her with a tray of food and rolls of bandages.

Barely a week had passed since her last fight, and her wing was almost fully healed. The feathers hadn't completely regrown and the scars were still pink and tender, but she could move around and fight without them being a hindrance.

She looked up from her sitting position, raising a questioning brow his way when he just halted in front of her, his posture completely straight.

"They've arrived. The king has scheduled your next fight, and you will not be getting a weapon."

Maka's eyes went wide at his whispered words. They were earlier than what they had planned. As she rose to her feet, she started chewing nervously at her lower lip. Was she ready for this? Were they going to pull this off today? Could she manage without her scythe?

"Maka, I need to re-wrap your wounded wing."

That got her attention. Confusion turned into realisation when he parted the bottom of his cloak.

Schooling her features into a bored expression, she took the food tray from him as he started unraveling the already clean bandages from around her right wing. As soon as her wing was free, she deliberately stretched them, testing their movements with a few wing beats, raising a swirl of sand at their feet. It wasn't anything grand, but it was enough to hide Soul from any prying eyes before he carefully folded her still healing wing back, bandaging it tightly closed against her back.

Meanwhile, Maka had started nibbling on the piece of bread he had brought her. She needed to eat to have energy, yet her stomach was starting to twist into knots. She reached for the apple as the half eaten bread was left on the side.

"It'll be fine."

She gave a nod at Soul's soft words. It was a small comfort because she certainly didn't feel like any of this was going to end up fine. As she finished her apple in silence, Soul took the tray back from her before leaving the arena.

Maka started stretching her limbs, moving around the sand to test her balance with her folded wing. They were ready for this, she told herself mentally as she went over their plan in her mind. They had been very careful during their preparations, and she knew her choreography by heart.

The next hour was long and agonising. The minutes slowly ticked by before the gates to the Colosseum finally opened to let the spectators in. Her attention was constantly split between Giriko's personal balcony and the iron door that would bring her her last opponent. As always, the king arrived 10 minutes before her fight was to start, but he wasn't alone.

The strange man with white hair was by his side again. He was dressed just as richly as before, a red top coat adorned with golden cuffs and embroideries around the collar. She couldn't really tell from where she was, but she had the inkling feeling that he was watching her with his deep red eyes.

Maka quickly brushed the thought aside. Soul was the only person she had seen with such eyes, and she could tell they weren't the same ruby red eyes she had come to trust. That man clearly wasn't Soul.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the heavy iron door leading to her cell creaked open. Her gaze zoned in on the newcomer. The fighter was tall, taller than Soul, with droopy pale eyes and messy pale pink hair cropped short. Her opponent had long lanky limbs and was dressed in a black attire with white collar and cuffs that covered the entire body. She wasn't sure how strong this enemy was, but they held a long broadsword as if it weighed nothing. The strange black blade, encrusted in white in its center, made Maka ill at ease. There was something evil about that sword, something that made chills race up her spine. She was more worried about the blade than she was about the lanky person walking hesitantly towards her.

"Um, hi… I-I'm Crona."

Maka looked at this Crona person dumbly. She definitely hadn't been expecting this. Was this a ruse to get her to lower her defense? No, she was going to be weaponless for this fight, so such a tactic wouldn't really be necessary.

"Hello. I'm Maka." She hesitated a few seconds before adding, "You're earlier than planned."

At this, Crona's head tilted to the side before giving a shrug.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you. I'll just damage you a bit to make sure you won't be troublesome when we take you home."

Maka couldn't hold back the disgusted laugh. She was so focused on Crona that she almost missed Giriko's little speech.

"...unfortunately will be Angel's last fight in the Arachnophobia Colosseum, so enjoy the show!"

She felt the arena tremble around her as the spectators cheered and stomped their feet, obviously excited about this historical event. Maka fell back into a fighting stance, eagerly waiting for the bell to ring, announcing the beginning of the fight.

The second the signal was given, Crona dashed straight for her, sword held with both hands and blade tipped down to the side. Maka jumped back at the first swing, the black metal singing past her. There really was something creepy about that sword. With every swing, it made the air around it vibrate, a low screech humming in her ears. If Crona landed a hit, she would most definitely lose a limb. As the chained up woman dodged another swing, diving to her left, Crona gave an annoyed huff but followed her nonetheless.

"Stop moving around so much. I can't deal with all of your wiggling and jumping."

Landing in a crouch, Maka dug her feet into the sand. She was slightly unbalanced with her right wing folded up, but she still had managed to lead Crona exactly where she wanted. They had waltzed across the entire sand pit, her chains pulled to the max.

As Crona charged once more, Maka's muscles tensed up as she grabbed the chain just under the iron cuff of her left wrist. As the blade fell down, Maka brought the metal chain to meet with the blow. There was a high pitch clink but Maka ignored it as she reached for the chain to her right wrist, repeating the motion to block the blade before it could dig into her left shoulder.

Crona was getting impatient, not pausing between assaults, swinging the black blade over and over. Maka dodged the two next attacks, the sword falling on the chains by her ankles and making that same clinking sound. Maka, having her back to Giriko up until now, feigned a stumbling step to the right, going around her opponent and facing the balcony. Crona took the opening as the black sword was raised over Maka's head, ready to cut off her left wing in a downward motion.

The blond woman snapped her jaws shut as she pulled down the two chains linked to her wings. Another clink was heard as Maka looked up at Crona, a victorious smirk stretching across her lips. Crona's eyes widened at the realisation of what had just happened, as Maka charged for the first time, the chains surrounding her body fell behind her and into the sand.

Soul, while bringing her food and changing her bandages more times than what was really necessary, had been slowly cutting through a few specific links. With a strong enough blow at just the right angle, he had assured her that they would snap. To the naked eye they weren't obvious cuts, but if someone had bothered to look closer they would have seen the sabotage. But once again, the jailors had been too scared to come close to her and check, and Soul wasn't going to say a thing.

With nimble feet rushing towards the pink haired sword wielder, Maka pulled at her bandages, releasing her wing and grabbing a snow white scythe hidden there as her white feathered wings unfurled. Crona was stunned in place as Maka spread out her wings, strong wing beats disturbing the sand around them, just before she leapt, her wings giving her that extra boost she needed in order for her feet to reach Crona's shoulder. Taking leverage on her duel partner, Maka boosted herself upwards, ignoring the burning sensation from the muscles along her back at each wing beat.

Reaching the balcony had felt like an hour long trip, but had barely taken a few seconds. As Maka appeared over the railing, her feet falling on the stone ledge, she was faced with a half raised Giriko, eyes wide with wonder and fear. Her eyes steeled with anger and resentment, holding his gaze as she tightened the grip on her scythe and swung.

Soul must have sharpened the blade just before hiding it under her folded wing because she felt no resistance as the blade sliced at his throat, removing his head from his shoulders. Leaping down the stone railing and rushing towards the two guards near the door, Maka's mind was screaming out in victory. Dodging the first spear to slip under the first guard's arm, Maka easily dragged the sharp outer curve of her scythe across his cloth covered side. As the first guard fell in a pained cry, holding onto his profusely bleeding stomach, Maka blocked an oncoming blow, pushing the offending spear away before swinging her own blade towards the unguarded throat of the second guard.

With adrenaline still humming through her veins, Maka looked around the now empty balcony. The white haired man had disappeared, but she didn't have the time to savor her personal victory over her worst nightmare as she heard the metal sound of keys against a lock.

Her head snapped up towards the door that led out of the king's balcony, leaning back onto her feet, ready to strike down anyone who would come through that door that wasn't her jailor. She barely registered the warm blood slowly pooling around her bare feet as the door slammed open, a very serious looking Soul appearing, his hood covering up to just above his eyes.

Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Maka handed Soul her blood covered scythe as he threw a long brown jailor cloak her way. Her hands started shaking as she pulled the cloak over herself, furling her wings as much as she could around herself. Once she had tugged the hood down over her face, she followed Soul out the door and through the narrow stone passageway, both running down the hall as if they had the Devil at their heels.

Soul stayed in front, guiding them down the different corridors, surprising her a few times when he quickly dispatched the oncoming guards with relative ease. He was really good with handling a scythe.

o.O.o

She knew that Soul had stolen they head jailor's master keys, that's how he had opened the back door to the king's balcony, but now she was wondering if that had really been necessary.

The jailors' quarters were in havoc. The murder of the king had instantly created a small revolt between the guards and the jailors. Most prisoners had been freed from their cells, and the lifetime serving jailors had taken down the main door of the Colosseum's Southern wing to disappear into the city. They didn't hesitate as they ran for the opened door, Soul throwing her white scythe to the side before exiting the Colosseum for the last time.

The two cloaked figures exited the Arachnophobia, with Maka looking back for barely a second before speeding up so as to keep up with her accomplice. With adrenaline still coursing through her body, she concentrated on Soul's back, her bare, blood covered feet slapping against the cold concrete pavements. The plan was to head towards the farthest gate that lead out of the city. With a bit of luck, the murder of the king at the Colosseum wouldn't have reached the guards so far out, allowing them to pass before searches could be set up.

Tightening her grip on her cloak as they ran through more or less crowded streets, Maka pulled the hood over her eyes as they passed near guards. No one was paying them any attention, much to her relief.

Just as Maka started feeling her legs burn from all the running she had been doing, the city's main gate appeared in sight. She felt most of her anxiety leave her body, and was almost caught off guard when Soul took a sharp right turn.

Not far into the alley they had now engulfed themselves in, Maka noticed the red and black carriage pulled by four horses with robes as black as night. Slowing down from her run, she didn't have time to admire the creatures before Soul pulled open the door to the carriage and practically shoved her in, only to follow close behind as he slammed the door closed.

Maka barely registered how Soul had very unceremoniously slumped down into the seat next to her, mumbling something along the lines of 'fuck that's a big city'. She was more focused on the third passenger in the carriage they had just rushed into.

He was older than her, sitting calmly on the seat in front of them, arms crossed in front of himself and completely at his ease. Maka's brain took a few seconds before realizing who he was. With snow white hair and deep red eyes, dressed in a red blouse lined with gold. He was the man she had seen with Giriko a few times. The same man she had spotted next to the king just before her fight had started.

"Hello Miss Albarn, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said while giving her a soft smile that reached his eyes.

Maka's head snapped towards Soul as she felt him tug her down into the seat next to him. He must have seen the confusion in her eyes when, not skipping a beat, he waved a hand towards the older man.

"Maka, this is Wes. Wes Evans, Duke of Death City… my older brother."

Soul mumbled the last words, as if embarrassed.

Still trying to catch her breath Maka finally sat down as the carriage started moving. Her legs and feet were complaining from the harsh run she had just made, her wings were starting to feel strained as she kept them as close to her body as possible, and, quite frankly, she could feel a headache making its appearance behind her temples.

She felt the carriage stop a few moments later, and her heart started pounding in her chest again. Wes never lost his relaxed demeanour as he opened the curtain, showing off a golden card covered in different seals and signatures to the nearest guard. Maka, on the other hand, was shrinking into her cloak, pressing back into the cushions, almost willing them to swallow her. If the guard peeked inside the carriage… but he never did.

She heard boots scraping over pebbles as the guard hollered a "Let his highness through" as Wes calmly closed the curtains once again. She counted five seconds before the carriage started rocking once again, allowing her to let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

Silence fell around them as Maka felt her heart, that had been hammering inside her chest for the past few minutes, finally slow down. She didn't dare speak, he eyes fixed on the closed curtains. She was almost expecting to see Giriko rip the curtains open, that sadistic smile on his face as he screamed a "Surprise Angel!" before leading her back to the Colosseum.

Maka came back to her senses when she saw Soul shuffling beside her. Her now ex-jailor was shimmying out of the brown cloak, revealing his full features to her. She felt her eyes widen as snow white hair came into view. If she ever had a doubt that Wes and Soul were brothers, she certainly didn't now. As she watched him open the moving carriage door to throw the brown cloak out, realization of what they had just done started downing on her.

She made it. They made it. She was free. Giriko was dead. She was free.

She felt the urge to start cackling like some crazy person, or maybe poke her head out of the carriage window to scream "FREEDOM!" but caught herself. She still wanted to put at least a couple hundred kilometers between her and the Colosseum before screaming out in victory.

When she realized that Soul was looking her way, ruby red eyes seeming to sparkle with mirth as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking about, a wide smile slowly stretched across her lips, mirroring his own. They probably would have started laughing like two idiots if Wes hadn't spoken up:

"Miss Albarn, we will be bringing you to Death City in order to get you out of the Empress's reach. There, you will be given official ID papers and a roof over your head until you are ready to leave. You are, of course, free to come and go as you please. If you wish to part ways right now, you may, but please don't let this whole ordeal be in vain. We would really prefer if you didn't get caught again. At least not until we have reached Shinigami-sama's Empire."

Maka gave a small nod. Wes held himself like a prince, his tone gravely serious, and she couldn't help but compare him with Soul who always seemed to have a laid back attitude when facing a problem.

Her mind was reeling. Soul spoke up, telling her that they still had a week's journey before they reached Death City for her to think about it. And even then, she was welcome to take her time and choose the path she wanted to take.

Maka felt as if the world was at her fingertips. It was a very scary and thrilling thought. She'd been locked up for most of her life. The only thing she could do was fight. This should have terrified her, but strangely, it didn't. Some would have said that she had nowhere to go, but Maka was smarter than that. She knew that now, she could go anywhere.

o.O.o

Maka had been wringing her fingers for the past 30 minutes, anxiously pacing up and down the hall as she waited for Soul.

As promised, he was asking the duke, his brother, if she could join the city's special task force. She wasn't expecting much. At least, she tried to convince herself that, no matter the answer, she wouldn't be upset.

She wasn't born here, she had no connections, no titles, no family and no attachments to Death City. She could just up and go, explore the world like her mother had, this very moment.

A frown marred her fine features. Soul had been kind enough to offer her a job in Spartoi, the special police force of Death City, but he had also warned her that his elder brother, the head of the organization, would have the final word on if she could join or not. Moreover, she would probably have no say in who she would be teamed up with and what missions she would be assigned to.

As she brooded over this for the hundredth time today, her pacing never halting, Maka stubbornly told herself that, no, she wouldn't be disappointed if she didn't get the job. If this didn't work out, she could visit other cities, other countries, maybe become a mercenary herself. She didn't need Soul anymore. He had promised to get her out if she cooperated, and he had. She owed him nothing.

She halted her pacing in front of a red wooden door, glaring at it as if it would make the poor entryway open and spit out Soul faster. She hated waiting. Never liked waiting for her fights to start, and she definitely hated waiting for an answer that, to her, is a simple 'yes' or 'no'.

Maybe he was catching up with his brother? That's why he was taking so much time. Maybe his brother had already said no, but Soul was trying to sway him? Maka's thoughts turned gloomy. Maybe Soul had changed his mind and didn't really want her to join Spartoi with him. She had been a handful since she arrived in Death City a week ago.

Biting her thumbnail, the green eyed woman glared some more at the door. She had been sleeping at Soul's apartment since her arrival, in the guest room. She didn't really cook, but had helped out with the cleaning. She had been forced to go shopping for clothes, had been scolded a few times by Soul when she had let her wings out in public, had fought, and lost, against the red eyed man when she wanted to take her scythe out into the city.

Letting her hand fall to her side as she let out a defeated sight, Maka told herself that she really couldn't resent him if he wanted her out of his life. She hadn't been the easiest person to deal with. She was completely out of her element. Going back to society after knowing practically nothing but fighting was pretty hard for her.

Hearing the distinct click of the door knob turning, Maka's eyes shot up as her entire body straightened.

She was faced with a hunched over Soul, his hand digging into his pockets as he pushed the door close with his right foot. His bored gaze searched her face before his lips slowly gave way to a wide shark like smile.

"Come on, we've got work to do, partner."

She looked at him with owlish eyes. It took a few seconds before she blinked slowly, her brain registering what his words meant exactly.

Maka gave a slow smile his way before folding her hands behind her back as she fell into step next to him, following him down the hall.

She had nothing to prove to him since he had, after all, been watching her for a while now. He had seen her win impossible fights, receive countless wounds without so much as a flinch, take down enough opponents to put the most battle hungry men to shame. He knew how strong she was. She had survived alone in the Colosseum all these years, and had been doing fine before Soul showed up.

And yet, knowing that he would be there fighting by her side, that she wouldn't be alone anymore, made her beyond happy.

"Alright, partner. What's our first mission?"


End file.
